


To Justify the Means

by RedOrchid



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen, S02E07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:13:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedOrchid/pseuds/RedOrchid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking a night off is not an easy thing.<br/>Adelle-centric. Takes place late S2, post E07 (Meet Jane Doe)</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Justify the Means

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mestizaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mestizaa/gifts).



> For Mestizaa, who wished for something on Adelle's crisis of faith mid-end season 2. Happy Yuletide!
> 
> And a huge thank you to my lovely beta, who helps me be so much better than I would be otherwise. <3

The problem about being the newly re-instated head of a morally shady organisation, where every single one of your powerful friends would not hesitate to stab you in the back if it would benefit their own agenda, is that it’s very hard to find a place where you can drink and rant in peace without somebody using the information against you. Normally, Adelle would solve this by setting up another appointment for Ms Lonelyhearts—actives are incredibly practical in the way they are wiped of any and all important information after each engagement, after all—but Victor’s been showing signs of retaining emotional information lately, and after everything that’s been going on with Echo, well, Adelle would rather not take that kind of chance at the moment.

The place she’s at now is a dump. Local clientele only, mostly unemployed dock workers and fishermen from what she can tell. Dirty floor, dirty counter—dirty everything really.

Adelle feels right at home.

She waves at the bartender, who is nice enough to come over straight away, bottle of cheap whiskey already in hand. Whiskey. Ha. Adelle can just imagine the look on little doctor goodie-two-shoes-slash-most-ruthless-active-Adelle’s-ever-had-in-the-house’s face if Claire could see her now. Topher really did a marvellous job with that one.

Some days, Adelle thinks about killing him. 

It’s logical really. He’s a risk. Not in the way Alpha was, or Ballard is now. Or Echo. Christ, how did Adelle’s beautifully ordered house turn into such a shit show in such a short amount of time? But yes, Topher—who’s staying loyal not because he has things to gain, to lose, or even to believe in, but who just can’t take a step back when he’s on the verge of some new scientific discovery. He’s the embodiment of _curiosity killed the cat_ , except that with him, it’s not just the cat that will end up dead; Topher’s genius is the kind that builds nuclear bombs, or viruses that can eliminate countries in a matter of hours. And the scariest thing about it is that he doesn’t seem to realise the potential of it all.

Adelle feels a strange fondness for him. Topher is her star pupil and favourite son. And sometimes, when she wakes up at night from dreams of the entire world burning, she thinks about how easy it would be to call him into her office, ask him to take a seat, pull out the gun from the top drawer in her desk and shoot him straight through the heart.

She waves at the bartender for another refill.

“Sorry, ma’am?”

Adelle looks up. There’s a girl standing next to her, looking awkward and angular and young. 

“Yes, dear?” 

“I’m sorry,” the girl says, “it’s just—I’m kind of waiting for someone, and this place is—I’m just wondering, would it be OK if I joined you for a little while? Just until he shows up?” 

Adelle raises her eyebrows, the waves a careless hand. “Fine. Please.”

The girl hops onto the barstool next to her with a sigh. “Thank you, that’s really—wow. Thank you. I don’t know why he wanted to meet here, anyway. It’s his latest thing, to want to be edgy and stuff, but this place is creepy. Sorry. No offence.” 

“None taken,” Adelle says sardonically. “I find it a well-judged assessment, actually. Are you waiting for your boyfriend?”

The girl turns a rather sweet shade of red. “Oh, no! He’s just a friend. I mean, I really like him, but—yeah. I don’t know. He’s really nice and smart. But sometimes he gets these ideas, you know? And, yeah, he can be difficult to talk to when he’s like that.” She looks up, and then suddenly looks concerned. “Hey, are you OK? You look really pale.” 

Adelle shakes her head. “Nothing,” she says. “You just reminded me of someone, that’s all.”

“Someone you know?” The girl looks even more awkward for a moment, then shrugs. “I’m just killing time until my friend shows up, so… Not that I want to be intrusive, it’s just—you looked sad. Do you want to talk about it?”

Adelle looks her up and down. Not particularly attractive by stereotypical standards, that’s true, but people’s kinks come in all forms. Then again, she has a hard time imagining that any house would allow their actives teeth like that. 

Still, it pays to be cautious. 

Adelle smiles. “Would you like a treatment, dear?” 

The girl frowns. “Sorry, what?”

“Just my little joke.” Adelle raises two fingers in the air, and the bartender once again makes his way over. “A drink. Would you like a drink?”

“I don’t have an ID.”

“Trust me. Won’t matter. Nothing matters. Not in the grand scheme of things.”

“Wow,” the girl says. “That’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard. And I live next to a lady with fifty-three cats.”

“Then you’re lucky, aren’t you?” Adelle says. “Just think. A few years from now, people might lose the little free will they have to a ruthless organisation because someone needed a bargaining chip. And everyone will end up willing slaves to whatever power wields the greatest weapons at the moment.”

The girl looks very confused. “Are you sure you’re OK? Do you want me to call somebody for you. I’m sure they have a phone around here somewhere.”

“Thank you, dear,” Adelle says, and then downs what’s left in her glass. “But there’s nothing you can do for me. Have fun with your boyfriend. I’m guessing that’s him, now?”

The girl twists around in her seat and does a horrible job at appearing casual in the face of the man who just walked in the door. Now, this one Adelle could definitely work with. Tall and spoiled-looking, beautifully built body and a face that would work in many situations. This man could be a lover or a corporate spy, could pass for a politician or a rock star with the right styling. He’d make an absolutely beautiful killer.

Yes, Adelle could definitely work with him. She reaches into her purse and pulls out a card.

“If either of you should ever get into trouble, keep this,” she says, putting the non-descript card next to the girl’s hand. “Helping people get out of trouble is kind of a specialty of mine.”

“Yeah, sure,” the girl says, with the polite tone of voice that Adelle knows means that she’s planning on throwing the card away as soon as she’s left the bar. Adelle takes another look at the maybe-boyfriend, notes a small package under his jacket that he probably thinks is well-concealed. She takes out a second card and slips it into the girl’s pocket.

“I hope you have a lovely evening, dear,” she says, then stands and buttons her coat. “I’ll make space for your friend.”

The girl looks startled. “Oh, you don’t have to—” 

“I was leaving anyway. Business calls.” Adelle smiles at the girl and walks away. 

Once outside, she hesitates for a moment and then digs her phone out of her purse. It rings for several seconds before the call connects. 

“—not the same as synthetic synapses _at all_. Did you even go to college? Yes, hello, boss?”

“Topher, we’ve talked about abusing your assistants,” Adelle says, in a tone that’s hopefully the right balance between firm and friendly for the strained relationship they’re keeping up appearances of at the moment.

“I’m not abusing them, I’m _educating_ them—”

“Tear yourself away from your teacher’s pulpet for second, then,” Adelle says. “I’d like an update on our register. Do we have any actives up for retirement soon?” 

There’s the sound of Topher clacking away on his keyboard, as well as some mumbled protests from Ivy in the background. Normal sounds, like nothing’s changed since Topher came to her with his damning blueprints. “There’s Romeo, he’ll be out in a week. Then Victor in three. After them, it’s India and Tango in about six months.”

Adelle sucks in a breath, closing her eyes. 

“We should start looking for replacements, then,” she says, her voice barely quavering. “In fact, I may even have a new Victor lined up already.”

“Crack-a-lacking, boss,” Topher says, too cheerily. “Text me the details and I’ll send them on for background checks.”

“Already done. I’ve sent the coordinates to your inbox. Male, blond, early twenties, some kind of illegal package hidden under his jacket.”

“I’ll imprint Mike with a vice cop scenario,” Topher replies. “Anything else?”

“Send Sierra, too. Friendly bystander. There’s a girlfriend who might need someone to talk to.”

“Roger that,” Topher says. “Speaking of, we’ll also need a new Roger soon.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” She hangs up, pulls up her address books and finds the number to her regular cab service.

Time to get back to work.


End file.
